


That One's Just A Weed

by electraDandelion



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt Uses His Words, Geralt is a walking herbarium, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining (but light), Name-Calling, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, if you squint there was only one bed, mild use of game lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electraDandelion/pseuds/electraDandelion
Summary: "‘I should have expected nothing less than from my uselessDandelionthan to be a failure!’”+Geralt couldn't understand the reason behind Jaskier's bitter attitude as he pulled off the main road to gather some blowball to replenish his potion supply. If anything, the witcher thought the bard would have jumped at the chance to rest in a meadow of flowers... but behind his perfumed scent, something soured.It wasn’t until later, when Geralt had to pull the bard away from a bar fight, that he even thought about it again.+++Where Geralt teaches Jaskier the many uses of blowball, because “Dandelions arenotjust useless weeds.”+++A gift for Damara ontwitterandtumblr
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 316
Collections: Geraskier Holiday Exchange 2020





	That One's Just A Weed

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Hurt/Comfort"
> 
> mildly inspired by the song "[Dandelion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6OmawiWhG4)" by Gabbie Hanna
> 
> Hope you like it Damara!

#  **That One's Just A Weed**

“Seriously, Geralt? Again? This is the fifth time _today_ that we have stopped for your stupid flower picking!” Jaskier exclaimed exasperatedly as Geralt led them off the well-worn path and into a small clearing which was littered with yellow and white flowers. 

Geralt just ignored the bard’s complaints as he dismounted Roach to fill his pouch full of alchemical ingredients. 

“I can’t believe you, _always_ going on about how _I’m_ the one wasting time by doing things like picking flowers or admiring the scenery… And here you are, picking useless weeds!” 

Something about the almost _anger_ in Jaskier’s voice gave Geralt pause. 

While yes, the bard was overly emotional about most things, he always had a reason behind them. That nearly bitter tone that Geralt had never heard from him before meant that there was something _more_ there. Geralt didn’t know exactly what nerve he struck, but it left his mind reeling far more than he would admit. It was often hard to pinpoint the meaning behind the bard’s reactions, because despite how much Jaskier always talked and babbled on about seemingly nothing… he hardly ever revealed any personal information about himself.

The witcher stewed on it in silence as he gathered herbs and broke them down into the components he would need by hand. On a stump in the corner of the meadow, Geralt had gathered a sizable pile of edible greens — primarily the leaves stripped from the blowball he was harvesting. They would help pad out their rations a bit, and Geralt didn’t mind the flavor much. 

Not that he really ‘minded’ the flavor of anything much, considering Geralt sometimes stooped to eating raw meat from his kills when he was too desperate to do any cooking. Jaskier had promptly chewed him out for taking such poor care of himself and his taste buds the first time he caught Geralt doing it. The bard always complained about not having enough vegetables in their traveling diet too, because “We can’t survive on rabbit alone, Geralt! No wonder you’re so pale, you are hardly getting any minerals and nutrients aside from iron!” 

Hopefully that meant the salad would help boost Jaskier’s mood. Not that Geralt was trying to do that or anything, he just needed potion ingredients. That’s all.

In actuality, Geralt really was in desperate need of a restock to his alchemical supply after his last few hunts. Specifically, for bombs. While he didn’t normally like to use them on most hunts, Moon Dust and Dimeritium bombs were some of his best defences against creatures like werewolves and fiends — both of which he _never_ wanted to face unprepared. Plus, he was running low on Grapeshot, and even if he wasn’t like Lambert who used them to _fish_ of all things, Geralt couldn’t deny their usefulness.

That meant that for Geralt, their detour into the meadow was a successful one. All around them was a veritable sea of dandelions, along with a few bushes of white myrtle. Between the two plants, Geralt could restock and greatly enhance his bombs, stock up on potions like Swallow, Blizzard and Golden Oriole, and even make a few batches of Necrophage and Hybrid Oil. 

Even though blowball grew fairly easily due to the nature of its seeds, as Jaskier had loudly extrapolated: most humans saw it as a weed. That meant it was usually impossible to find near settlements. If he ever needed to restock for a contract, the steep prices charged by herbalists was a far greater pain than any complaining from his companion could be. 

Jaskier was still sulking, but had calmed down enough to pick his lute back up and strum along to the quiet sounds of nature as he sat in the shade of a tree near where Roach was grazing. The notes he was playing hardly had any pattern, although the randomness somehow still managed to be pleasing to Geralt’s heightened senses. Despite the deceivingly light and airy quality of his tune, it only served to confirm Geralt’s suspicion that something was wrong with the bard. If they weren’t actively traveling along the path, Jaskier never seemed to waste time that could be better spent composing or perfecting new songs. The only times the witcher had ever heard similar spaced out strumming was either when Jaskier was trying to force himself out of anxiety or anger… or if he was trying to forget. 

Even knowing that something was wrong, Geralt still didn’t entirely know _what._ He wouldn’t force Jaskier to talk about it though, because if there was one thing Geralt knew, it was that if Jaskier _wanted_ to talk about something, he would. If he didn’t… the bard truly did have an incredible talent at answering questions without revealing _any_ information and then changing topics so expertly, most don’t even realize it until minutes later. And that’s _if_ they do. 

Every so often, in between his idle strumming, Jaskier would hum an unfamiliar tune. It was repetitive, and slightly irritating, like some silly children’s rhyme. That didn’t quite explain the bitter quality that Jaskier’s scent and smile took each time he hummed it, but Geralt surmised that even Jaskier could fall victim to an annoying earworm every once in a while. 

With his pouch full, Geralt gave a small _hmm_ as he considered the remaining daylight they had. The two had been out on the path since early that morning and had yet to stop for more than some “weeding” as Jaskier had griped earlier. So even though Geralt could probably keep going until nightfall, he hoped sustenance would distract the bard from his funk.

As he stood, Geralt gathered the greens and practically dumped them in Jaskier’s lap, which the bard seemed annoyed by, but definitely distracted from whatever he had been thinking. 

“Do you think these would go well with that oil and vinegar you got from that Cidarian trader?” Geralt grumbled in question.

At the suggestion, Jaskier’s earlier annoyance fell from his face and was replaced by excitement; Geralt knew Jaskier couldn’t help but light up when he asked for the ‘little pleasures’ the bard liked to indulge in, and the witcher was glad his plan had worked.

He struggled for a moment to stifle a smirk from his face at how easy it was to please the younger man as he traded his bag of herbs for a steel sword and a hunting knife. But before he could exit the meadow in order to go hunt something for lunch, Geralt’s superhuman hearing couldn’t help but pick up the renewed grumbling from Jaskier about “those damned dandelions… what are they even good for…”

+++

It wasn’t until Geralt had to pull the bard away from a bar fight that he even thought about it again. 

Geralt hadn’t expected to make it back to the inn in time to get a dinner he hadn’t hunted, but the contract he had picked up turned out to be much shorter than he had expected. Foglets were never fun to deal with, and were especially unpredictable thanks to their illusions and their quick nature, so in retrospect, he had probably overprepared. 

A dose of Blizzard to boost his reaction time, a generous coat of Necrophage Oil to his silver blade, and a Moon Dust bomb to counteract their magic all seemed necessary to combat the usual groups that foglets hunted in. But the hunt was over mere moments after it began, and as such, resulted in Geralt disappointingly carrying only one foglet head to trade in for coin. 

Normally, he would grumble about having wasted so many supplies on such an easy hunt, but he still had plenty of ingredients left over from his recent foraging, and could likely replenish his supply before they headed out of town if he wanted to. 

Either way, a warm meal and a pint sounded pretty good after a long week on the road, so it was more than time to go and meet his bard back at the inn. But all hopes for an uneventful night in town were quashed as his ears picked up on the commotion inside. 

“Oh look who it is, Dandelion the _weed_.” 

The taunting voice was unfamiliar, but the sour scent that filled the air in response unfortunately wasn’t. 

“What, can’t make it in Oxenfurt _or_ Cidaris, so you hole yourself up in some hovel on the outskirts of Velen? Wow, and not even _they_ want you, _Dandelion.”_

There was something about the way the man said ‘Dandelion’ that really grated on Geralt’s ears. It was as if he was digging and digging and _digging_ until he struck gold, or in this case, a nerve. He also sounded so cockily confident, in such a way that he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Shove off.” Retorted a voice that confirmed Geralt’s suspicions of who the victim of the taunting was. It also left the Witcher thinking back to that afternoon spent picking blowball. 

“What’s the matter? Can’t take a reminder of the fact that no one wants to hear your rubbish songs, _Dandelion_?” The man sneered. “All they’re good for is getting infuriatingly stuck in your head — just like a weed.” 

Geralt could smell the anger simmering under the bard’s skin, and he was beginning to see where this night was going to end if he didn’t intervene soon. With a loud clearing of his throat, Geralt stepped forward because he decided he had definitely heard enough of _that._

“Actually, _Jaskier_ has been in quite high demand this season. The innkeeper begged him to play when we got into town, but we leave at dawn.” Geralt allowed his gruff voice to bellow over the cacophony of the surrounding bar. 

The witcher took up a spot close enough next to Jaskier where he could place a supportive hand on the other man’s tense shoulder, but also close enough to the other man where he could tower over him with his intimidating presence alone. 

Upon closer inspection, the other man quite obviously smelled like a noble who had never worked a day in his miserable life. Honestly, Geralt was tempted to just let karma and Jaskier do the work of bringing him down a peg. He knew that his bard was more than strong enough to make him regret his words, and the longer Geralt saw the smarmy sneer on his face, the more he entertained the idea. 

But Geralt also wanted to keep the roof over their head for the night, rather than be kicked out for causing trouble, so he reluctantly continued. If the witcher noticed Jaskier’s breath hitch as he squeezed his shoulder in a plea to go along with his plan, Geralt didn’t mention it. 

“Now, as much fun as this looks like it was, it’s time we were heading back up stairs. Right, _Jaskier?”_

Even as Geralt subconsciously pulled Jaskier closer into the protection of his arms, he didn’t take his eyes off of the bastard in front of him. He knew from experience that in most instances, an intense, unblinking glare from his golden Witcher eyes could deter most sane people from challenging him. 

When he more felt than heard Jaskier grumble a reluctant affirmation and nod his head, Geralt turned towards the innkeeper’s desk to order mead and a meal sent up to their room before heading upstairs. He could feel the frustration coming off the hothead behind him in waves, but the man seemed smart enough to not try anything else to incur Geralt or Jaskier’s wrath, 

Geralt could feel Jaskier’s heart rate stay elevated even as the sour note of his irritated scent began to mellow back into the warm floral notes of his natural scent. Perhaps it had something to do with how Geralt kept him tightly pressed to his side as they made their way up the stairs, but the Witcher did nothing much to change that fact. 

He begrudgingly removed his arm from around Jaskier as they reached the hallway where their room was, needing to find the key to their room. 

Strangely enough as they silently entered the room, Geralt couldn’t get the odd tune from that day in the meadow out of his head. Back then, he had assumed it to be some catchy children’s rhyme that Jaskier had picked up back in one of the last towns… but thinking back to the man downstairs, it sounded eerily similar to the way he had mocked Jaskier with how he said _‘Dandelion’._

The room was definitely nicer than they had during most of their recent stays at inns that season. It didn’t smell like vermin or mold, so Geralt was content enough already without even considering the bed. 

There was only one, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Over the years Jaskier and Geralt had fallen into a routine of sharing both a room and bed most nights at inns to save money. While the bed didn’t look incredibly soft, it definitely beat a cold forest floor and a bedroll on the path. It was also larger than the average bed they ended up with — and if Geralt was disappointed because that meant Jaskier might not have to fall asleep tucked close to him, he _definitely_ kept that to himself. 

Jaskier let out a dramatic huff as he flung himself onto the bed after depositing his bag and lute by the door. 

“I had absolutely no qualms about fighting him, Geralt. What happened to ‘I never get involved’? Hmmmm?” 

“That was the problem.” Geralt simply answered, not looking up as he steadily removed his armor. 

“Still.” Jaskier complained, the pout tangible in his voice. “I could have handled myself just fine.” 

“I know.” Geralt nodded, finally looking up to where Jaskier was lounging on the bed, already having removed his doublet and boots. 

Normally an answer like ‘I know’ was saved for placating Jaskier during one of his long rants where a simple hum or grunt wasn’t an acceptable response. But his tone was different — it was a genuine assurance that Geralt knew Jaskier could hold his own. 

While normally dead set in his expressionless mask which he always made sure to wear out on the path, Geralt couldn’t help but let his fondness break through sometimes. Geralt knew that over the years, Jaskier had worn him down enough during their time alone to make his expressions far less hideable and predictable. Based on the way the bard’s eyes widened before he turned his face away as a slight blush dusted his cheeks, Geralt was doing a shit job at keeping his softening emotions off of his face. 

After he had finally set aside all of his armor, Geralt took a seat on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees as he thought over the event of that night. 

“Would it have been worth it?” Geralt asked thoughtfully as he turned his head to face Jaskier. The bard stared at him for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. 

Blue eyes found their way to stare deep into Geralt’s own golden ones for what felt like hours before the bard finally broke the eye contact by turning away with a resigned sigh. 

“No, you’re right…” The man grumbled as he begrudgingly shook his head. 

Both of them sat in silence, neither daring to move. Geralt could tell by the racing of Jaskier’s heart, that there was more to be said, but the younger man didn’t seem ready to be the one to do so. 

“Who was that guy?” 

“Hmm?” Owlish eyes blinked up at Geralt at the question, before a stiff sheepishness took over Jaskier. “Oh, you know that guy I wished for the Djinn to strike down with apoplexy?” 

Geralt’s brow furrowed at the mention of the Djinn as he let out a hum in displeased affirmation. 

“His friend.” 

Surprisingly, Geralt was yet again the one to to keep the conversation going as he asked another question. 

“Why did he call you ‘Dandelion’?”

Jaskier stiffened, and a sea of emotions shifted rapidly across his face. He was probably overwhelmed both by the strong feelings and memories that that name obviously held for him, along with the ever difficult task of trying to figure out what Geralt wanted. Or at least, what extent of the truth he thought the witcher could take. 

“It was a… childhood nickname.” 

Geralt passed a knowing look over to the bard, not even bothering to raise an eyebrow in question. He knew the bard wasn’t saying everything, but he kept his silent prodding to a minimum so as to not pressure him. If it truly was a sensitive subject, Geralt would never be one to press, knowing exactly how good _that_ feels. 

With another resigned sigh, Jaskier sat up on the bed, bringing one of his knees up to support himself as he began to answer the unasked question. 

“‘Dandelion’, was a ‘cute’ nickname from my mother, or so she had once called it.” Even without bothering to scent the air, Geralt could practically taste the bitterness on his tongue. “But as I got older, and she grew less… _tolerant_ of me… it was a lot less cute.”

Jaskier looked up from where he had been staring into the wall for a moment, to make eye contact with Geralt. The witcher knew his companion was usually apprehensive about overwhelming him, especially when it came to talking too much. 

While Geralt appreciated it, because otherwise he might _actually_ get sick of Jaskier every so often, it made his gut wrench at how much the bard probably kept from him in fear of annoying him. Luckily, Jaskier must have found the reassurance in Geralt’s eyes that he was not a bother, as he took a shallow breath to steady himself before continuing. 

“When I was probably no older than 4 years old… my mother had asked me to pick out some flowers for her new garden. It was to be a pet project of hers, one of those things that rich women with nothing to do take up because they are bored, you know?” Jaskier looked up again warily, catching himself in what he realized was probably an unimportant tangent. 

“Well, little “Julian” really loved the novelty of taking a little white puffball of seeds, blowing on it, and watching it multiply into the hundreds of ‘little balls of sunshine’ after a few weeks….” Jaskier’s smile and inflection as he recounted the story of a gentler and more innocent time was bittersweet. “That was my mistake. I asked my mother for dandelions because ‘they were so _pretty’._ ” 

“She laughed in my face. It was the first of many times.” He gulped as he paused. “She told me ‘Child, that one’s not a flower. That one’s just a weed.’”

Geralt knew that had not been the last time he had heard those words either. 

“I think the honesty in my answer amused her, so she took to calling me her little ‘Dandelion’.” 

The Witcher could tell that wasn’t the end of the story by his scent. Jaskier had begun to force a little more nonchalance into his words, as if he was recounting a story over an ale in a tavern. But Geralt’s enhanced senses could see right past it. 

“That woman never had a filter, you know? If you weren’t doing something the way she wanted it, she would let you know. No matter who was listening.” 

“I don’t even remember _what_ I did wrong that day, but she was having a meeting with one of my teachers. She came out _furious —_ immediately grabbing onto me and yelling as she stormed out of the building. ‘I should have expected nothing less than from my useless Dandelion than to be a _failure_!’” 

If Jaskier’s voice cracked as he quoted the words back, Geralt said nothing. The more he listened, the more he began to understand _why_ Jaskier had been so upset. 

“Valdo…” Jaskier looked up for a moment to gauge Geralt’s recognition of the name. “ _That_ guy from before — he overheard her. Mind you, he has never had an original thought in his life, so when a ‘perfect’ insult came around to disparage me in the wake of his jealousy of my talent… he decided to make that name follow me no matter where I went.” 

“And follow me it did, all the way to Oxenfurt even. On the day we both graduated from Oxenfurt, Valdo claimed that ‘no self respecting court would want a weed like Dandelion sullying their good name.’” 

Jaskier looked up, more assured of himself. He let out a steady breath as he openly looked to Geralt with awe at the fact he had been listening this whole time, mixed with hardened determination as he finished the story. 

“It was that day I decided to start anew. Make my own path. Claim my own name.” 

“Jaskier…” The name slipped from Geralt’s lips without a second thought. But unlike his normal, harsh or hurried uttering of the name, Geralt instead took his time to feel it out on his tongue what Jaskier had chosen to reinvent himself as. 

Jaskier hummed lightly at Geralt’s response and shrugged. “Still a weed, but at least now, no one can call me useless unless they want a taste of poison.” 

“Dandelions are not useless.” 

Jaskier looked up in shock at his uncharacteristically immediate response, but he was more surprised by the conviction in his voice. What really struck him into silence was the fire he saw in Geralt’s eyes as they met before he continued. 

“Dandelions have many uses and applications. Medicine, tea, dye, food _—_ and those are just the applications for humans. Unlike many other witcher herbs, Blowball isn’t inherently toxic. They are incredibly diverse in terms of alchemical properties and uses.”

Even though it kind of sounded like a memorized entry from a herbarium, it was probably more words than Jaskier had _ever_ heard Geralt say before. It was incredibly endearing all the same, and made his stomach give a strange flutter. 

“From enhancing bombs, to an antidote for poisons, to a binding agent for the toughest of potion ingredients… _Dandelions_ are an invaluable tool to a witcher.”

Jaskier felt his heart jump into his throat at the genuine expression on Geralt’s face. While he _knew_ those words weren’t some sort of masked sign of affection he held for the bard… it still made Jaskier feel that way.

“I… I didn’t know that.”

A soft expression settled in Geralt’s brow as he considered his next words, gently laying a broad hand on Jaskier’s lowered knee. It was probably an attempt at grounding, but for whom, it was unclear. 

“Besides, Dandelions are strong. Ingenious, even. Adaptable. Stubborn.” Geralt took a small pause to lock eyes with Jaskier, a smirk beginning to light up his pale face. “Those are all pretty admirable traits in my book.”

Jaskier felt like he couldn’t breathe. And yet, in that moment, he felt lighter then he had in years.

“Things… from our past… can hurt and follow you. But, they don’t have to define you.” 

“Geralt of Rivia… that was almost poetic.” 

“Hm.” Geralt nearly chuckled in response. “And whether you’re Jaskier — or Dandelion — you are still the same bright, stubborn and annoyingly talented bard. Don’t let anyone else’s stupidity make you forget that.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the wide smile that broke across his face as he tackled Geralt back onto the bed with as powerful a hug as a human could manage to wrap around a witcher. 

As the two fell back, Jaskier laughed with a quality that made Geralt's heart warm. He couldn't even help the small chuckle at finally seeing the man, his _friend,_ back to his old self. Or rather, no longer under the pressure of his _former_ self. Together, wrapped in the other man's arms, Geralt felt as if somehow they could momentarily forget their hardships and the harsh path they would soon return to. Little did the witcher know just how much comfort and warmth washed over Jaskier at the feeling of Geralt accepting his touch. Or more importantly, hearing him _laugh._

Over the years of travelling together, Jaskier had never quite let himself admit to just how much he had longed for a night like this. Geralt's casual acceptance of his emotions, presence and even _touch_ was more than he could have ever asked for. Lying there with Geralt, with no sense of urgency or fear of reproach was something Jaskier could imagine getting addicted to.

As the night grew later, even though the two knew they had to depart early in the morning, it seemed like nothing could dampen the soft mood between them. A few more words passed, and Geralt learned that the trilling tune Jaskier had been humming was actually a song he had composed, but had never performed for anyone. All about _Dandelion._

But now, because it was _Geralt_ , the bard seemed to have now no longer have any qualms about playing it. At least, for him. He lightly strummed his lute to accompany the tale of his mother’s harsh words with an eerie longing. However, unlike that day in the meadow, Geralt no longer smelled the bitter frustration as he had when the bard had hummed the song before. 

Now, Geralt found Jaskier’s openness and weightless energy he was finally exuding _beautiful._ But he kept that thought to himself for the time being as he wrapped his arm tighter around Jaskier’s side to pull him in close after he finally finished singing. 

That night, when they finally fell back into bed to actually rest for the day ahead, Geralt let Jaskier wrap his arm lightly over his waist. As the bard pulled himself in close to the witcher's back, Geralt felt Jaskier's comforting scent waft around him. It was a clearer, _happier_ scent of sweet vanilla which mingled pleasantly with his natural floral and musk blend. He let the scent and warmth help him drift off to sleep, tucked in far closer than they needed to be for how large the bed was. But with a long day ahead of them, both men were willing to indulge in the silent comfort of the other's arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter at [@ElectraInTheAir](https://twitter.com/ElectraInTheAir) <3 stay safe out there y'all


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